


Peachy

by Inky_Scribbles



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Gen, Snufkin leaves, They still love each other though dw, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Scribbles/pseuds/Inky_Scribbles
Summary: “Then stay.” Moomin insists, not gentle or firm, but like crackling fire, as if he wants to shout it out to the world. He doesn’t, though. Snufkin wonders if he can hear the silence of the moment, too. It wouldn’t surprise him.//Snufkin's leaving. Neither of them know for how long.





	Peachy

**Author's Note:**

> Ready Now by Dodie is the colour of this fic.

Poignantly, and with a sour taste in his mouth, Snufkin turns away. The sky is much more beautiful than the look on Moomin’s face, at this time of day. The sunset paints the clouds with peachy orange, periwinkle blue, and wispy lavender. Six or seven birds fly high above them, heading for the lake. Snufkin thinks that they might be ducks.

“You can’t just ignore them,” Moomin says, and even though Snufkin can’t see his face, his voice is drawn, as if only two flimsy straws are holding it up. “Everyone will know eventually.”

Snufkin closes his eyes, and listens to the rhythmic sound of Moomin’s voice. It’s so much nicer than his own; a poem of sour notes. “... Will you tell them?”

The light of the sun dips low enough to hit Snufkin’s face, making his eyelids go red. He tips his head down, and tries to pretend it’s not in shame.

“No,” Moomin whispers, the beginnings of a warble deep in his throat. Snufkin wants so badly to turn around, to look at him, commit the face to memory. Every smudge, each pale hair, all of what his eyes are. The light blue, almost green. The teal edge they get when he stands in the light just so. The darkness in them, like pools of disturbed ink. The lightness, too, like tiny snowflakes.

But he can’t.

“Why not?” Snufkin ignores the quaver. So does Moomin.

“Because…” A pause. The river below shifts against the legs of the bridge. The red of his eyelids goes dimmer and dimmer, until it suddenly disappears. Funny, how Snufkin has spent his entire life on this planet, and never stopped to think about how fast things go by. The world turns faster than you think. “Well, does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You’re…” Snufkin hates that he knows the face Moomin is making right now. The pinched, frustrated look. The one he gets when he doesn’t quite know how to say what he means. Snufkin usually understands anyway. “You’re the one who’s leaving.”

“But you’re the one who won’t tell. They’re your family,” he opens his eyes, and the sun has gone behind the mountain. An orange outline stretches across the peak. “Aren’t they?”

“Not as much as you.” Moomin takes a breath. “Not as much as you… Were.”

“Not anymore, then?” Something like a rubber band stretches too thin in his chest, close to snapping. Close to breaking, so that everything it’s holding up will fall right down.

“I suppose…” Moomin’s voice is frayed and thin. “I suppose, you never were. Not really.” 

The breath catches in Snufkin’s throat, a stone blocking the exit. Strange, Snufkin thinks, because he doesn’t remember eating any of those lately. “Moomin—”

“You were more than that.” Moomin’s voice sounds strange, low, and for once Snufkin can’t think of a way to give it description. Strange. Odd. That’s all it is. “You… You always will be.”

The stone slowly sinks to his stomach, and for every centimetre it goes, his meticulously gathered words become quieter. Not because what he’s saying is a secret, but because the hush of the wind and the mumble of the water is all the sound they really need. Snufkin has always known that. Moomin would never want to hurt him.

He takes a breath, and it feels like lightning. Not because it feels energetic, but because pins and needles are settling in his chest, static and fuzzy. It’s warm, almost too warm, and he can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.

“I know,” he settles on, eventually. The words still sound too loud.

“Then stay.” Moomin insists, not gentle or firm, but like crackling fire, as if he wants to shout it out to the world. He doesn’t, though. Snufkin wonders if he can hear the silence of the moment, too. It wouldn’t surprise him.

“You know I can’t.”

Moomin sighs, and comes to stand next to Snufkin. “Yes,” the word plods from his mouth, reluctant. 

Snufkin can’t resist the urge any longer, and turns to look at Moomin, whose snowy face is dyed a peachy colour as the last dregs of sunlight slip away. He’s watching the mountains, the way Snufkin had been not two moments ago. He looks exactly as Snufkin had expected. “Then come with me,” the idea comes and leaves before he can even think about it, but he already knows Moomin’s answer.

“You… Know I can’t, Snufkin.”

Snufkin sighs. “Yes.”

“Maybe you’ll come back someday.” It’s a question, more hopeful than Snufkin expects.

He will. Of course he will. “Maybe,” he says, instead, and they look at each other and smile.

**Author's Note:**

> "Or maybe I'll come and visit you, someday."
> 
> "Maybe," Snufkin agrees, and begins to feel as peachy as Moomin looks.


End file.
